


Holding Out (for a Hero)

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Coulson is a damsel in distress, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Shower Sex, coulson being turned on by skye's powers, coulson feels, coulson is more comfortable being saved than he is with being comforted, skye's powers are amazing, wet coulson, wet skoulson, why does it always have to be coulson feels?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3698198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson gets his ass saved by his hot superhero girlfriend. And he likes having his own personal hero, has gotten used to playing the damsel in distress; really, it's nothing new. It's just that he's still not used to the tender part that comes after. (He's learning.) </p><p>(The first part, at least, was inspired by a Tumblr post by BrilliantlyHorrid about kidnapped!Phil getting cocky and happy when something in the room starts to vibrate, announcing Skye's presence. Then it got away from me.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Out (for a Hero)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrilliantlyHorrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/gifts).



Coulson comes to slowly, pounding head and aching back a definite sign that something’s not right, and tries to take stock of his surroundings without alerting anyone to the fact that he’s awake.

He’s definitely tied to a chair.

The shooting pain in his shoulders means that his arms are also bound behind his back, and he tries to relax into the pull so he doesn’t make it worse.

Deep breath in and out, and he can feel the metal of the cuffs locked around his wrists. They’re too tight, cutting off circulation.

That’s going to be a problem.

It takes training to realize all this and not struggle, to realize it and breathe through the panic as he pieces together what happened.

It’s foggy, but he knows they set a trap — planted false information about one of the Diviners to lure him in. But they’ve taken him somewhere else, which means he’s been out for long enough for them to cart him somewhere.

That probably means drugs, which explains why his head is so foggy. He struggles for clarity as he takes more deep slow, breaths, and opens his eyes to narrow slits to get a better look at the dark space.

They’re holding him in a cave.

It also doesn’t take long to figure out who _they_ are. His primary jailer, currently pacing the perimeter of this chamber, is clearly Cal’s most recent right hand man — a large guy with jaundiced skin, enhanced strength, and a few vaguely lizard-like qualities.

All that really matters in this situation, though, is that he’s a large man with large muscles.

He’s not someone Coulson can bring down even on the best of days, and today is definitely _not_ the best of days.

So, he’s tied to a chair in a cave being guarded by a big man with big muscles, and his guess is that they’re holding him until Cal arrives.

Which means that, most likely, he’s safe until Cal gets here. After all, Coulson has seen first hand what Cal does to someone who takes out an enemy he’s marked for himself.

Even so, he can’t just wait for Cal to show up. He knows he needs to find a way to control the situation, to get himself as free as he can. He can’t bank on a SHIELD team finding him — not even Skye, not when they’ve dragged him to the obvious middle of nowhere, definitely not any of the spots she’s selected as likely locations of Cal’s base of operations.

If he’s going to have a chance in hell of surviving another face off with Cal — and that’s an _if_ , not a certainty by any stretch — he’s got to get out of this chair.

He breathes deeply, some approximation of what May would call centering herself and what he thinks of as more ‘preparing for pain.’ Controlling the situation comes at a price, after all.

Everything is dark and kind of dank and there’s a drip of brown water falling from the ceiling into a small, stagnant pool. The sound of it is starting to get annoying, which is as good an introduction as any.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but I think you have a leak.” Coulson calls his guard’s attention and gestures towards the dripping water with his chin.

Of course, he gets a hard right hook to the jaw for his troubles.

The force of it knocks his chair over, so he lands on his side and gets a sharp spike of pain through his ribs. He takes another deep, slow breath — it hurts, but nothing sharp or stabbing about it. Nothing broken.

But on his side, it’s easier to maneuver his hand into his pocket, to grasp hold of the pocketknife his captors were too arrogant to even bother searching for.

“Does that mean it’s supposed to be that way?”

Big guy’s work boot connects hard with his stomach, and Coulson grunts against the force of it, but it keeps attention on his front, renders him ‘not a threat’ in a way that means his jailer walks away and puts his attention elsewhere.

Getting strategically beaten up. It’s a skill, he swears.

It takes him several minutes to catch his breath, though — just him groaning on the ground in something that he would claim was an act if anyone on his team was around to see it. Still, nothing seems to be broken. He’s definitely glad they didn’t bother to remove his kevlar before coiling rope around his chest and the back of the chair.

He goes to work on the rope at his back, trying to stay as still as possible as he awkwardly maneuvers his cuffed wrists to cut at the nylon fiber. It’s slow, though, a slow painstaking process that jars his already tender shoulders even more.

Probably ten minutes pass, ten minutes of Coulson moving carefully to cut through coils of rope, when he notices the ripples in the little pool of stagnant water by his head, the slight vibration of the ground underneath him.

It makes him smile so wide that the cut on his lip reopens.

He really doesn’t care.

“Now’s the part where you let me go,” Coulson informs his captor, all cocky swagger from his position on the floor, and he gets little more than an eyeroll from across the room.

“Shut up.”

“I’ve got the ropes,” he offers with a smile as he shrugs off the frayed mass, “but if you could go ahead and get the cuffs…”

It has the desired effect, which is turning the attention of every guard in the room onto him. It also has the less desirable side effect of earning him another kick in the stomach.

“She’ll probably be a lot nicer if you let me go,” he tries again, mostly-grunted in pain, and then his attacker is on the ground, pinned by a large rock that falls from the shaking ceiling. It won’t kill him — not with his strength — but he’s definitely down for the count.

The shaking stops, and he can’t see her, but he’s positioned to see really well as the rest of Cal’s hired goons rush towards the cave entrance, only to have the guns in their hands shake apart, falling to the ground in pieces.

It’s _so_ fucking cool. That move always turns him on.

Then they’re all pushed backwards, slammed into the walls behind them and clearing a convenient path from the entrance of the chamber to his side.

Which is when she comes into view — his hot superhero girlfriend stepping into a shaft of light that streams through the partially destroyed cavern. The light catches the golden highlights in her hair, the golden tone of her skin against her black jumpsuit, and for a moment she looks like an avenging angel.

She’s larger than her small frame, all lithe muscles and tightly controlled power and the capability to split the earth in half.

And fuck yes, he’s aroused.

She could turn him on by breathing before she was a superhero, but _now_...as she strides towards his sprawled, beaten body, his cock practically throbs for her.

Skye is at his side a moment later, tugging the rest of the ropes off and running her hand down his front, reassuring herself that he’s fine.

“You know, if you get kidnapped one more time, I think you get a free sub sandwich.”

“Your father owes me that much at least,” Coulson gripes as Skye climbs over him to free his hands.

“I’ll bring it up at the next family reunion.”

He can feel the handcuffs vibrate around his wrists before they fall to the ground.

“God, that is so cool,” he whispers.

“Hmm, I’m starting to think you’re getting kidnapped on purpose,” Skye jokes as she kicks the chair out of the way, giving him a moment to roll flat on his back.

“This is only the third time your father has had me. And the first one barely counts as a kidnapping,” he defends himself as he stretches out, moving slowly against the pain in his gut.

“Yeah, but maybe you’re asking for it somehow?”

“Skye…”

“Seriously, though, Phil. What were you wearing?”

He frowns at her, and Skye raises her hands in surrender before sliding her fingers over the kevlar again.

“I’m going to take it off, okay?” She looks worried, and he knows that all the teasing is only there to cover it up. He prefers the snark, honestly, to the thought of making her so worried.

He nods and takes shallow breaths as she unbuckles his vest and tugs it out from underneath him. Next come her palms, pressing gently down his ribs to his stomach.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers, trying a deeper breath. “Nothing broken.”

“Good.”

Her hands wander lower — not purposefully sexual, but he can’t help the groan when her fingers slip just underneath his belt buckle.

“See, Coulson, this is what I mean when I say I think you’re enjoying getting kidnapped,” she chides him as her left hand slips down to cup his cock through his trousers.

“Fuck,” he grunts, feeling himself somehow swell more in her hand. “Not the kidnapping,” he responds, but cuts himself off with a moan. “I liked the rescue, though.”

He reaches his right hand up and slides his fingers through her hair in order to tug her down into a kiss. Skye resists, and instead drags her finger just beneath his lower lip. It comes away bloody, and Coulson groans in frustration.

She wipes the blood off on her pants, though, and begins to work his belt open as her left hand keeps rubbing his cock He shudders at the idea of it — Skye riding him amidst the unconscious remnants of Cal’s small army.

Skye taking him right here because she can.

He stops her, but he _really_ doesn’t want to.

“As much as I want to encourage whatever’s about to happen, I’d rather your father didn’t walk in on it.”

“That’s probably smart,” she agrees, though it takes her a moment before she stops stroking him. “He doesn’t need any more reasons to kidnap you,” she jokes and rolls back onto her heels so she can easily stand up next to him. “Come on, Director. May is waiting with the Bus outside.”

Skye offers him a hand, which he accepts so she can tug him to his feet. He groans at the stretch and bunch in his abdomen, getting him another frown from Skye.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll get you in bed,” Skye suggests.

“I like the sound of that.”

She slings an arm around his waist and offers some support as they walk out of the cave. He doesn’t need it — honestly, he doesn’t and he’s not the kind of man who would be too proud to take it if he did — but he likes her arm around him anyways.

When they step out into the sun, he winces at the brightness and lets Skye tug him onto the Bus.

“How long did they have me?”

“Almost twelve hours. They ditched your phone and your earpiece, but I realized my father bought a small ranch in this area. It took some time to find the cave.”

She sounds guilty, like she’s half-apologizing for not finding him sooner, and he knows that Skye had done nothing in those twelve hours but search for him. He hates to think of her like that — worried and blaming herself and neglecting her own needs to find him.

Coulson stops their progress just inside the Bus’s loading dock to hug her.

“Thank you,” he whispers just above her ear.

He squeezes her body against his, savoring the warmth of her, but she just nuzzles her nose into his neck while keeping her arms loose — careful not to aggravate any of his painful spots.

“Get a room,” May calls down them from up above them, and Skye doesn’t pull back but she puts on her mask — the lighthearted smile she wears when she doesn’t want anyone to know how scared she is. It’s not fake — not exactly — it’s just not the whole truth, either.

“We’re planning on it,” Skye shoots back. She grins knowingly at May, who scowls in return before her lips curve into an almost-smile. This still feels pretty new — Skye and May bantering like friends or soldiers-in-arms — and it makes him happy, makes him feel like the core of his team has settled in where they’re mean to be.

“You’re getting pretty comfortable playing the damsel in distress, Phil,” May tells him, eyebrow raised in a taunt.

He just frowns, not particularly liking this brand of teasing.

“It’s okay,” Skye whispers just above his left ear. “You’re allowed to like it, especially since I’m about to have my way with you.”

“Just clean him up and make sure nothing’s broken first.”

May walks away with that parting shot, and Skye blushes — clearly having forgotten about May’s excellent hearing.

“You’re going to have your way with me?”

“Isn’t that what the hero gets to do after they rescue the damsel in distress?”

Coulson tries, unsuccessfully, to bite back a grin at her teasing. His lower lip still hurts — he can feel the cut there threatening to open again — and Skye frowns at his wince.

“Come on,” she takes his hand and guides him up to his space on the Bus. It’s no longer well furnished, but it’s got enough for him to use when he needs it. The desk in the office, bed in the bedroom, basic supplies in the bathroom. She leads him into the bathroom, and he just goes with the flow as she undresses him.

And then she undresses herself while he watches — the slow process of peeling off the jumpsuit until she’s left in the tight little camisole she wears underneath, and then she’s naked.

He has more or less the same thought every time he sees her naked: every part of her is perfect and toned and she is way, _way_ too good for him.

That fact has stopped bothering him, though, since it doesn’t seem to deter Skye. And far be it for him to question what Skye wants.

And right now she wants to get in the shower with him.

He’s almost stuck watching her — can’t seem to make himself move — as she climbs in first, setting the water to hot and stepping over the tiny lip of the utilitarian shower. She leaves the beveled glass door open so he has an unobstructed view of her standing under the spray, water running down all the perfect parts of her body.

“Get in, Phil,” she directs him, rolling her eyes at his inability to stop ogling her.

He blames it on whatever Cal’s goons dosed him with.

But he _does_ finally manage to climb in, closing the sliding door behind him so that they’re almost pressed together in the small, warm space.

As much as he knows this is really needed — he’s bloody and dusty and sweaty — he can’t stop himself from running his hands up her torso to cup her breasts, and then down to feel out the curves of her hips. Then he pulls her up against him to get his hands on her ass.

“This is about getting you clean,” Skye chides him, and forces a turn that puts him under the spray. He can see pink-tinged water run down his body from the cuts on his face, and he goes still as she turns him under the water, letting the hard spray unknot some of the muscles in his shoulders.

He keeps a bottle of cheap shampoo in here, nothing fancy since this shower is really only used for emergencies anymore, and she pours a small pool of it into her hand.

“Come here,” she requests, so he does, leaning down just enough to allow her fingers to comb through his hair, rubbing shampoo across his scalp. She rinses it out, being careful of his eyes, and Coulson smiles at her once she’s done.

“Your turn,” he suggests, though Skye just rolls her eyes.

“You’re the dirty one,” she counters, but she ducks her head to make it easy for him to rub shampoo through her hair, getting herself low enough that he doesn’t have to stretch his shoulders uncomfortably.

They’ve done this before, but at the same time it’s not really something they do. He likes it, though — the closeness, the intimacy of washing her hair — and they step under the hot water together to rinse off.

Her skin is warm and soft and slippery under his hands, and when she grabs for the body wash he stays her reach. He doesn’t want to stop touching her, yet.

“I’m going to get you clean,” she tells him, putting on a serious face. He nods.

“In a minute. Let me get more dirty first.”

He raises his eyebrows at her, pleased with his double entendre, but Skye just frowns.

So he pulls out the big guns, leaning in to nuzzle the base of her neck, just above her shoulder. Gently, he nips at the skin there — a guaranteed way to get her to melt against him, to get her to let him touch her to his heart’s content.

“ _Coulson_ ,” she sighs his name and presses her body against his, and he drags his mouth up her neck to her ear.

“Skye,” he whispers back.

Slowly, his hands explore every inch of her wet skin, questing downwards until he’s slipping his right hand between her legs. His cock is hard between them, pressed up against her, but he ignores it, instead pulling back just far enough to angle his fingers against her entrance. She’s wet for him, and it’s so easy to push two fingers inside, especially as she raises her right leg up against his hip.

“I’m supposed to be having my way with _you_ ,” she complains, though her words are soft and half-moaned and she pushes her hips forward to get his fingers deeper.

“You want me to stop?”

Skye just sighs and leans back against the shower wall, letting him thrust his fingers harder inside of her.

“Like that,” she whispers when he bends them just right, and her arm slides around his neck as he props himself up on the wall with his left hand.

The noises she makes become louder and louder as she moves with him, clearly forgetting any reasons why she didn’t want to do this.

It takes him no time to get her off, to feel her coming around his fingers, and she slides a hand up behind his head to tug him down so she can sink her teeth into his neck as she comes, muffling the already-quiet moans she makes.

He keeps touching her — soft hands all over her body — as she breathes deeply from her position against the wall. It’s not something he can help, really. When he gets this turned on, he just wants to touch her, just wants to make her come.

And now that she’s collapsed backwards against the wall, he uses the advantage to reach for the bodywash — beating her to the punch.

It’s not his favorite stuff, but in a way it’s better, since this is unscented — perfect to lather up his hands and run them from Skye’s neck down her body.

“Coulson,” she sighs. “You need to get clean.”

“I will,” he promises.

His fingers slide easily down from her shoulders to lather across her chest, and he spends a few minutes longer on her breasts than is strictly necessary. She allows it, though — lets him touch her as much as he wants, lets him spread the soap between her legs as she leans back again and relaxes under his fingers.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Skye accuses him, but her whole body is soft against his and the accusation has no heat.

“I just want to touch you,” he corrects her as his soapy thumb presses against her clit, extracting another groan. “You’re my hero, remember?”

“Knight in shining armor?”

“Skye in shining armor.”

He goes to kiss her again, but the pull on his lip reminds him that he’s still bleeding, and he frowns.

“Let me clean you up and get some liquid stitches on that,” Skye sighs, pushing him slightly back. When he resists, she runs her hands down his body and sighs, “Phil, let me take care of you.”

He nods and releases her, submitting to what she wants as they trade places so he can lean back against the shower wall.

Most things between them come naturally, except that sometimes he has to make himself remember that Skye wants to take care of him as much as he wants to take care of her. Maybe more.

They’re both people who put others ahead of themselves, and it means there’s a quiet negotiation from time to time about who cares for whom.

At least for right now, he can admit that he probably needs it more.

Skye pours soap into her hands and starts at his face, gentle against the sting as she washes away dried blood. Her fingers move down his body — a more sensual experience as she soaps his shoulders and arms, taking time to rub at the marks still left from the tight handcuffs.

“I’m sorry he got ahold of you again,” she whispers as she touches the red circles, and this is the reason why he wants to take care of her. She carries so much guilt around for the things her father does, and he wishes he could take it away. He wishes that she didn’t sometimes wish that she had killed him when she had the chance; no one should ever have to wish that.

“Not your fault.”

“It sort of is, though. He wouldn’t care about you so much if it weren’t for me.”

“Worth it,” he promises as her soapy fingers move back to his chest and he tries to relax for her, to let her care for him like she wants to. (It’s hard, sometimes, to drop his guard enough to let that happen, but he’s getting better.)

When her soapy hands run down his body in order to circle his cock, Coulson groans and finally lets himself fully relax into her touch. She soaps him thoroughly, fingers massaging the length of him before sliding behind.

“Fuck, Skye,” he breathes against the feeling of her fingers pressing up behind his balls, further exploring between his legs.

It makes him shaky — his knees suddenly don’t feel capable of supporting his weight — and then she pulls back slightly.

“Turn around.”

He does, slipping against her to rest his forehead on the tile and relaxing as she massages soap into his shoulders.

“That feels good,” he sighs because it really does, after the uncomfortable angle at which he was cuffed.

“I’ll give you a good massage in bed,” Skye promises before moving her hands down his back, rubbing into his sore muscles and then sliding her hands over his butt. Coulson groans as she squeezes each globe and then slides soapy fingers between.

“Skye,” he breathes her name as her fingers explore until she’s worked her hands back between his legs, until she’s cupping his balls in her left hand as her right circles him to run over the length of his cock.

He leans his forehead harder against the wall, pushes his hips backwards to give her more room to work — to stroke him, to touch him however she wants. Her movements stay slow and easy, tight grasp around his cock and soft fingers tugging on his balls. It’s only her hips pressing against his ass that makes him realize how vulnerable he has made himself to her.

“Turn,” she requests again, stepping back just enough to give him room to move.

When he does, he’s surprised to see her drop to her knees in front of him so that his cock brushes her cheek. The water from the shower pours over her head as she strokes him, rinsing away the soap between his legs.

And then she looks up at him as she raises her right hand, and the stream of water bends itself to hit the wall instead of her face.

His cock throbs at the display of her gift, and the serious moment is broken by Skye grinning up at him.

“Does that turn you on, Phil?”

“You know it does,” he counters, and she laughs.

It’s a good thing that she’s amused instead of annoyed by his constant aroused fascination with her abilities.

He turns the shower head away from them so that when she drops her hand and the water flows on its own path again, it’s still aimed away from her face.

And then she’s done joking. Her lips part and she sucks his cock inside, making him groan loudly as she sets a soft, slow pace. When she begins to move, her hands stroke from his thighs up to his stomach in a gentle caress, letting him feel her touching him — _loving_ him — on more of his body.

This act is another facet of taking care of him, of letting him know that he is loved and appreciated, and he relaxes under the suction and the firm circles of her tongue and the slow work of her lips as they move from the head all the way down the shaft. It’s erotic — of course it is — but it’s more than that, so much more.

His right hand makes a slow, gentle pass over her cheek in order to stroke across the back of her head, down over her wet hair. It’s a light touch, appreciating her presence rather than pushing for more, and when he brushes his hand back over her cheek, she leans into his palm and meets his eyes.

She stares up at him — eyes dark and promising — as he drags his thumb across her cheekbone. Then the suction around his cock increases, and he can’t quite keep his eyes open under the new pressure.

“Skye,” he whispers her name, and when he can look down at her again, he focuses on the sight of his shaft disappearing past her lips in a slow, sensual rhythm.

The thumb on her cheek slips lower to brush against her mouth, drawing a half circle across her upper lip and then slipping down to touch her lower lip. She extends her tongue to touch against the digit, which means his cock sinks a little further into her mouth, and he groans. He drags his thumb back up, touching his cock right where it disappears past her lips, and he finds the sight of it too much to take.

“Fuck,” he gasps as he feels himself suddenly get too close.

If they were in bed, she would back off right now, she would go softer and slower and ease him down so she could build him back up higher. She would spend hours on this, he thinks, on making him feel good.

(He would return the favor.)

But now, she speeds up into his mounting pleasure, swallowing him in a faster rhythm that leaves him shuddering above her, holding onto the back of her head for balance.

He grunts her name in time with each movement she makes until he can barely remain standing — until her hands pressing his hips to the wall are doing as much as his own legs — but it’s not until her right hand slides back between his legs to cup his balls and press behind them that he loses it.

It’s almost too intense as he pulses against her tongue, and his hands shake where they rest on the back of her head.

Even when he’s done, though, she doesn’t stop. Her lips stay wrapped around him after he’s collapsed back against the wall, soft and undemanding as she massages his cock with her tongue. When she finally lets him slip out of her mouth, it’s with a quiet sigh — barely audible over the sound of the water that’s still steaming up the bathroom.

She stands on shaking legs and leans into him, nuzzling against his neck before pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth that isn’t split open. He holds her against him, wet skin to wet skin.

“I’m gonna patch you up, now, and then rub your back,” she whispers against the side of his face, and he nods, no longer willing to fight her need to take care of him.

Skye is gentle with the liquid stitches and the butterfly bandage on his forehead. She’s done this before for him, so it doesn’t feel like a terribly big deal. And now that the adrenaline of the ordeal and the rescue have worn off, he’s _done_. His head aches from the drugs, his shoulders ache from the handcuffs, his gut aches from being kicked.

He falls asleep under the press of her hands against his shoulders, gently working out the kinks, and the last thing he remembers is Skye pressing a kiss to his shoulder and telling him that she would have her way with him tomorrow.

***

He comes to slowly, naked and sore and alone. It’s the alone that really makes him feel like something isn’t quite right.

He’s in a bed. It’s in a dark, quiet room that’s not quite familiar, and it takes a few minutes to remember where he is and how he got here. To remember yesterday and Cal’s goons and Skye.

The bed is on the Bus, he knows. And this bed is just _a bed_ , no longer _his_ bed. ( _His_ bed has long since become _their_  bed, and it’s in the Playground, not in the Bus.)

He takes a deep breath and focuses on his surroundings.

May has clearly landed while he slept — it’s too still and silent for them to be in the air — and he can tell he’s been asleep for a while. He flicks on the bedside lamp, casting a glow around the bed that isn’t going to come through the windows, at least not when they’re parked in the hangar.

Slowly, he stretches his arms over his head, relaxing against his pillows and marveling in the fact that he feels a lot better. The bedside clock tells him that he’s been in bed for ten hours, but he had needed it. After everything yesterday, he had needed it.

He had needed _her_.

And he’s had his ass saved by plenty of people, many of them women. It’s not about that part. Even though he loves that part — the part where he sometimes feels like he has his own personal superhero — it’s the part that came after that leaves him the most humbled.

The truth is that he’s gone most of his life without someone around to treat him tenderly after a bad day (and a day in which he’s held captive and beaten up a little is just that, a bad day, nothing more). He doesn’t remember whether his father ever comforted him — he had big, rough hands that weren’t suited to comfort, Coulson thinks. And after his father’s death, he spent more time comforting his mother than the other way around.

Never having had that kind of care — especially after he left home, joined SHIELD, took on a life that he could never really share with someone else — he never knew he was missing it.

Before Skye, he didn’t really know he was missing something, and he hopes she knows that even when it’s hard for him to relax, to let her, that she what she gives him is important to him.

He’s too caught up in the memory of her hands and mouth on him to hear her footsteps approaching the door.

“Hi,” she greets him, stepping into the bedroom with two cups of coffee.

“Morning.”

“I figured you’d be up soon.”

She’s wearing one of his shirts — a white button held together by a single button just above her navel — and nothing else. It’s sort of magical, how sexy she can look in his clothes. When she moves, he catches a glimpse of the inner curve of her right breast, the top of her thigh, a peek of pubic hair at the juncture of her thighs.

He takes this as a sign that they’re very much alone on the Bus.

“Coffee?”

Coulson nods gratefully and sits up in bed. His abdomen is going to be sore for a few days, but overall it could be a lot worse.

Skye smiles as she steps towards him, so that the yellow light of the bedside lamp catches the golden highlights in her hair and the brown of her skin in contrast to the white shirt. It’s his avenging angel, his hot superhero girlfriend, looking not larger than life but dwarfed in one of his button downs.

It makes him just as aroused as the view of her striding in to save him, and the sheet draped low on his waist does nothing to hide that fact.

“You like the view?”

“Mmm,” he answers, letting his gaze wander unabashedly down her body.

She laughs and sets down both cups of coffee on her own nightstand before undoing the single button and letting his shirt fall to the floor.

“Lie down,” she instructs him, and he does, stretching himself out for her as she climbs onto the bed and crawls over to him.

“Are you going to have your way with me now?”

“I was thinking about it,” she answers, raising her eyebrows as though silently asking if that sounds okay. He tugs down the sheet all the way, baring his erection fully, in lieu of an answer.

Skye laughs, but instead of straddling him, sits down next to him in order to splay her hand across his abdomen.

“How bad does it hurt today?”

“I’ve had worse,” he tells her, but that only gets him a frown.

“Phil, I’ve seen you beaten most of the way to death, so forgive me if that’s not really a comfort.”

“It hurts,” he admits. “But not too much.”

She nods and runs her hand down his stomach, a gentle touch that’s careful not to hurt him except for the mild ache that comes whenever he contracts his abdominal muscles.

“So you think you can…”

“Yes,” he assures her.

“Good.”

He waits for the feel of her hand on his cock, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she pulls her hand off of him and sits back.

“Touch yourself. I want to watch.”

Coulson swallows and wraps his fist around himself before giving a slow stroke.

“Like this?”

“Mmm,” she agrees, and he turns his head to see that her fingers are pressed between her legs, but he’s not positioned to get a good view. Still, as he begins to stroke himself in a slow, easy tempo, he watches her nipples harden, her chest flush pink, her lips fall open.

“Don’t stop, Coulson.” And it’s only her admonishment that makes him realize he’s let his hand go still while he watches her body react to her own touch.

“I want to see you,” he whispers as his hand starts to pump over his cock again.

She gamely rises up on her knees and spreads her thighs as wide as she can. She manages to maneuver her hand so that she’s holding herself apart as her right index finger slides back down, circling her clit in soft, light motions. He can see the slickness coating her finger, see how wet she is just from the little peek, and he squeezes his cock hard to stop himself from getting any closer to the edge.

“Skye,” he breathes her name. “Please.”

“What do you want, Phil?”

“You,” he answers. “On top of me.”

She nods, like that’s what she was waiting for, and swings a leg over his hips. Slowly, she rubs herself against his cock, letting him feel how wet she is without letting him inside.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” he hisses, and then she reaches between their bodies to grasp his cock and sink down over him.

Skye takes her time, rocking her hips against him so that she takes him in inch by inch, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from pushing up, pushing harder, forcing himself inside. It’s worth it when he’s all the way in and her body squeezes around his cock.

“God, you feel good,” she whispers, and Coulson shivers underneath her.

He opens his mouth to reply, to tell her how good _she_ feels, but she clenches around him, cutting off any chance that he’s able to speak. Instead, he moans and runs his hands up from her hips to cup her breasts as she rocks over him.

They move together slowly. It’s a perfect tempo for morning sex, especially when Skye leans down over him to kiss him, deep and unhurried as her hips keep moving in tight circles. She tastes of the coffee that he hasn’t gotten to drink yet — fresh and hot and slightly sweet — and he groans into the kiss. One hand strokes over the back of her head, hoping to keep her lips fixed to his, while the other runs down her back.

He doesn’t have it in him to do much in terms of thrusting up against her — his abdomen is too sore to support much movement, but he can rock with her and touch her as she grinds just how she needs it.

Her gentle movements above him are almost too much — he’s suddenly on edge, almost more from the feel of her body on top of him than from the actual sex. She seems to be on the same page because her hips start moving faster, and her tongue undertakes a more thorough exploration of his mouth.

“Skye,” he whispers against her lips, heaving in a deep breath. “Skye, slow down.”

She doesn’t, though.

Instead, she sits up and begins to rock her hips faster, dropping her right hand back between her legs to rub her clit in time with her movements.

He grits his teeth against his own impending orgasm and focuses on flexing his hips up against her, trying to give her what she’ll need to get off with him.

“Just let go, Phil,” Skye sighs as she places her free hand on his chest. “I want to make you come. Just let me.”

It’s hard to let himself go, but he manages. A deep breath and he stretches himself out beneath her, watching her breasts bounce and her hand move between her legs.

His orgasm surprises him. The familiar pulse behind his balls starts before he’s even aware of it, but Skye seems to know right away. She clenches down hard around him and moves from rocking to raising and lowering herself, milking him for all he’s worth. It’s blindingly good, and all he can do is hold on for dear life.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts, how long she keeps riding him and masturbating on top of him, before he sort of blacks out.

***

He comes to slowly, warm and naked with Skye spooned against him protectively. It’s not their bed, but it doesn’t feel strange as long as she’s in it with him.

A slow deep breath, and he can smell her and _them_ and the coffee that’s long since gone cold on the nightstand.

He snuggles back against her, falls back asleep knowing everything is right.

 


End file.
